


I've Got You Under My Skin

by Squishy_Suga



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, American AU, Death, Guns, Lots of 50s slang, M/M, NYC Mafia AU, R56 MY BABES, RAREPAIR HELL IS BACK, The Mafia is involved, They have real names in this, Violence, We set in the 1950s, swears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 08:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishy_Suga/pseuds/Squishy_Suga
Summary: Marco Bellucci (aka Reborn) is a young Mafioso and Capo for the Gambino crime family in Brooklyn in the 1950's, and to prove himself worthy of his title he has to come up with the best racketeering scheme his family has seen from a young captain. In his quest to do just that, he meets a young ex-soldier named Andrew (Colonello) working in the textile factory he's set to take over and recruits him, seemingly unbeknownst to the younger. But when the government starts cracking down on local mafia syndicates after the Korean War ends, it's up to Andrew to help Marco out--much to Marco's dismay.





	I've Got You Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Marco Bellucci: Italian immigrant, undercover name is Reborn, 23 years old. Gambino Family Capo (captain).
> 
> Andrew Ziegler: German immigrant, undercover name is Colonello, 20 years old. Ex-Army combat soldier.
> 
> Setting: 1950s NYC

_ March 21st, 1953 _

 

There was something about the contradiction of watching black and white television in a world full of color that gave Marco Bellucci a headache.  _ Or is it the news?  _ He turned the machine on to drown out the sound of the Brooklyn streets a few stories below his apartment, but caught himself watching the screen more than a few times as the news talked about the war abroad. Two months prior, he had no interest in American politics. 

“How boring,” he muttered, head rested against the palm of his hand. In front of him, on his kitchen table, was his gun. The pieces were laid out carefully, silvery metal glistening under the yellow light suspended above his head. In his other hand he had a rag that was soaked with a cleaning solution that smelled strangely like citrus. He glanced down and realized the solvent was dripping onto his dining table. He sighed. He never quite learned to heed the warning about not cleaning guns where one ate. 

Once it was cleaned and properly put back together he stood by the window and inspected it in raw sunlight. On the sidewalk within his view he could see a man in a dark hat with a paper held up in front of his face. To anyone else, he looked like an avid newspaper enthusiast, but to Marco, he was just an underling. It was the sign he had been waiting for all morning, however. He strapped a brown leather holster to his side with ease and concealed his weapon with a large coat. Quietly he stalked down the stairs of his apartment building, fingers fighting with the dark strands of his hair to tame them before placing a hat on his head. It was just another day as a  _ Mafioso _ . 

 

Down the street, another soul had just began to stir. 

With his window open to his fire escape and unlit cigarette between his fingers, Andrew Ziegler tried to seek peace in the sound of police sirens and newspaper boys screaming their messages directly into his consciousness. There was no such thing as silence to a soldier because even silence meant danger. He climbed through the opening and sat out on the creaky metal landing and let the smoke mix with the rising vapor of his warm breath in the morning air. His blue eyes tracked the birds above his head as they flew into the smoggy sunshine. 

“Good morning, Andrew!” an elderly voice called from below him, lively despite the owner’s age. She was holding a basket of linens in her frail hands. 

Andrew leaned forward so he could lie on his stomach and look down. “Mornin’,  _ Oma* _ …” He could feel the blood rush to his head from even the slightest movement of it forward to look better. He flicked his still burning cigarette into the wind. “You’re as radiant as always.” 

“And you’re just as charming…” The older woman began to hang paper white cloths on her clothesline. They were practically sheer in the daylight. “But you should know better than to spend too much time out here in your sleepwear...You’re still recovering.” 

“Awe, no way! I’m feeling peachy keen!” Andrew grinned, a false promise. The action of lying on anything but his bed was rather uncomfortable, but he was tired of spending his days at home. “I’m thinking of job hunting today.” 

“Be careful out there,” she called up, her attention solely on her work before her. “The authorities are talking about the gangsters in the area...Don’t get caught up in any schemes.” 

“No worries, I’ll shoot low.” He couldn’t take much more of the pain creeping through his body and moved to stand back up. “Thanks for the advice,  _ Oma _ ! I hope to have good news for you later.” 

“I hope so too! Dress properly! It’s supposed to be another cold, windy one.” 

Back inside his apartment he checked the damage--Had he ruined the stitching again? He was relieved to find that the wound was fine and took the opportunity to make sure it was clean. As minor as the injury was compared to a lot of his comrades who had fallen to the grasps of their wounds, he was lucky to be alive. At only 20 years old, he had seen more of the world than he had wanted to ever see under the circumstances. Being the excellent athlete in high school that he was, he was pushed into combat as soon as he qualified for the draft. It ended in him being discharged after being wounded in combat on the field. He wasn’t all that disappointed, though sometimes the survivor’s guilt was more than he wanted to handle. 

He searched his closet for something nice to wear as he walked the city in search for a job. It wasn’t that he needed the money, per say. His parents were rather wealthy and were funding his bachelor pad, but he hated being inside for long periods of time. It was the athlete in him. He settled on the nicest pair of high-waisted pants he had and a plaid button up over a white wife-beater. He stared at himself in the mirror while he fixed his blonde hair to a typical quiff style with some pomade and laughed. “You’re goin’ta kill ‘em looking like that,” he said to his reflection. “I look like one of those Cats that hang out in the malt shop. Maybe I can get a gig there.” He chuckled to himself as he headed for the door. He stopped in his tracks, remembering what the older woman had said about the wind, and grabbed a coat to humor her. He couldn’t wait to be back out in the world. 

 

_ April 2nd, 1953 _

Being a  _ Capo  _ meant that he was going to have to decide his scheme, and he would have to figure it out soon. 

Marco already had an idea, but he would have to do quite a bit of negotiating, and that wasn’t quite his strong suit. He moved his way through the ranks not because he was a smart-talker, but because he got what he wanted by force. His soldiers and associates followed him because they feared him more than  _ Omerta _ , the ultimate Mafia law. He was an excellent Hitman and that was to be both admired and revered. “You have a cleaning crew nearby, correct?” 

“Yes, sir,” his advisor replied, gesturing with his chin to a group of typical looking men sitting around a board game. “They’re on standby. Though if they know what’s best for ‘em they won’t cause a fuss. Don’t want the Fuzz gettin’ involved.” 

“And they won’t.” Marco pushed through the doors and was instantly greeted by the musty smell of factory work. Textile factories were almost like slave labor and that was exactly what he wanted. He’d have them all in the palm of his hands in no time. He observed the workers as he entered the main room. There were only 30 workers all in their dedicated stations. He didn’t have much time to peruse before the owner of the factory appeared. 

“What interests you in our company so much? Once the war is over, this place will likely shut down...The market for long wear undergarments won’t last.” The owner seemed nervous in Marco’s presence as he fiddled with the hem of his ill-fitting suit jacket. They walked and talked all the way to the office. “And with that in mind, why do you believe I’d sell it to you?” 

“You’d still get a cut of the profit, Mr. Taylor…” Marco assured him and placed a hand on his shoulder. The other hand had already reached into his jacket and retrieved his gun from its holster, the end of the barrel snuggly dug into the fabric of the owner’s suit jacket, level with his heart. “Or, nothing at all. It’s your choice…” He could feel the tension of his shoulder beneath his hand and it made him grin. “What’ll it be?” 

 

Andrew noticed when a few strangers walked into the factory, seemingly interested in the operations that were transpiring. “Did you see that?” he asked a nearby coworker. “Do you think Mr. Taylor is selling this place? Because the war could be over soon?” The thing that stood out to him the most was the taller one’s hat. He hadn’t taken it off when he entered the building and that struck him as a bit foreign. 

“Wouldn’t you if all you made was military underwear?” the co-worker responded and swiftly changed out the piece of fabric for another. “Why does it matter? We would have been out of a job soon either way, if the war was going to end.” 

The blonde nodded, realizing she was right. All of the women he worked with, who were 99% of the working population of the factory, were much older than he was and surely much wiser. He was hired on to do the heavy lifting that the owner believed the women couldn’t do. He lifted large spools of thread onto the machine they were using, which was a pretty steady job. When he wasn’t changing it out, he was moving finished product boxes to the loading station for pick-up later in the day. He ducked under the machine and walked over to the last station where the box was, filled with uncomfortable undergarments, and switched it out for an empty one. As he carried it over to the loading station, the strangers from before stepped out into the main room, and their intense presence was a bit more palpable. 

“Stop the machines!” the shorter of the two called, obviously the spokesperson for the taller, still hat wearing businessman. The latter had removed his hat when he arrived, and his strawberry blonde looked muddy in the dim factory lighting. “And come line up.” 

Suddenly, the noisy atmosphere of the factory started to dull until it was just the buzz of the unmoving machines. All of the ladies got in line before the men. 

Andrew dropped the box in place and joined the others in line.  _ Are we being fired? Is this it?  _ He was finally able to see the man in the hat much closer and he was shocked to find he looked much younger than he once suspected. 

Marco was staring at each one of them individually. He would have to make careful decisions for who to keep and who to throw out to make room for his own “workers.” He got to the end of the line and noticed the tall, blonde boy that was staring right back at him.  _ Looks athletic, must be doing the dirty work. Perfect.  _ “Starting today, I’m your new boss. Mr. Taylor was very gracious to pass on a few wishes, however, before agreeing to me taking over. Those of you that will be kept will receive a raise--You’ll make $2.” 

The whispers of excitement and surprise cycled through the women, but Andrew couldn’t help but seem weary.  _ There’s no way factory work is worth $2… _

“For the next 30 minutes, we’ll be observing you and deciding who is going to stay and who is going to go…You must understand that in order to pay that much, we have to make cuts…” Marco’s voice was even paced and low, barely a trace of emotion at all. He was a true business man. He glanced up at Andrew again and caught his eyes. “Everyone get back to work. 30 minutes starts now, so do your best…” He didn’t break Andrew’s gaze. “Except for you. You’re going to come with me.” 

Normally, a stone cold authority figure would have scared him into obedience, but he didn’t find him nearly as intimidating as the others seemed to. Though considering he had been through Hell, in all meaning of the word, nothing could have been more terrifying than that. He did obey, and followed the man through the building. 

“How old are you?” Marco asked, never once looking back as he walked. 

“20,” Andrew responded as he watched the stranger’s back. 

“Why aren’t you fighting in the war, then?” There was no surprise in his voice, despite the deepness of the question. There was barely any intonation in anything he said.

“I fought. I… was discharged.” The blonde was suddenly sheepish. Talking about the war was rare with anyone but the lady that lived two floors beneath him. It was a wound still fresh on his mind. 

“Misconduct or something else?” Marco wanted to know exactly who he was dealing with. He needed muscle on his side, but he didn’t want a trouble maker that would get himself caught. 

“Injury.” Andrew admitted and kept his head held high despite the turmoil raging in his bones. “I don’t have a flat-top anymore, so it must be hard to tell that I was ever in the military.” 

“Yes, the crew cut surely does it.” He finally stopped walking and turned around to face him. He had lured him into a back room area, far enough away that their chatter wouldn’t be heard. “What exactly do you do at this factory?” 

“Dirty work.” His sweaty and grimey t-shirt said it all. “So I understand if I’m the first that needs to go.” 

“On the contrary, I think we’ll need your assistance now more than ever. I wanted to personally tell you that I’m offering you a better proposition than just a raise…” Marco pushed against the rim of the hat slightly so it wasn’t casting a shadow on the entirety of his face. That, and the blonde was taller than him by a foot at the least, and while he disliked the idea of having to look up at someone, he had no choice. “I’m the owner of several other businesses around the city and because of that, I want to create a...merger, of sorts. That being said, I need someone to take care of deliveries to all of my buildings…No worries about the grunt work here, I have a few willing men that will take over in your place.” He could see the way the younger man’s eyes lit up at not only being told he would be keeping a job, but that it could get any better. “In exchange, you will receive a raise and a few perks that I will compile. What do you say?”   

“Sure.” Andrew didn’t think too long. The idea of being able to run around rather than just doing the same action over and over again for hours at a time was liberating. “Sign me up.” 

Marco grinned at his  naiveté . “Perfect...You can go home for today. You’ve worked hard, and I assume you’re still healing. I will pay you your lost wages for the rest of the day. Meet in the office at 8am tomorrow morning and we will discuss the job further.” 

The younger man nodded and turned to leave but stopped in his tracks halfway down the hall. “How should I address you, Sir?” 

“Bellucci,” Marco replied.

“I’m Ziegler!--er, Andrew. Andrew Ziegler.” He smiled like a fool, the first of many times he would do so. “Thanks, Mr. Bellucci!” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Oma is Grandmother in German
> 
> Hey all and welcome to rarepair hell feat. my brain giving me a 1950s AU for R56 to bring some content to this fandom. I hope you enjoy and look forward to further updates! I'm going to try to be as historically accurate as possible, which takes a bit of research, so don't mind if updates don't come regularly. It's just me thinking of how to best go about this. Also there will be "romance" (as romantic as you can get with these two lol). Just wait and see!


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